Page 8 of Desperate Decisions

I dragged one of the pillows over my face and screamed into it just to relieve some of the pressure.

My morning labs were good enough that they let me go home. Of course it was at that moment I realized that not only was my phone still at the apartment, but so were my keys and wallet, which left me with no way home. With an exhausted sigh, I asked one of the nurses to call my dad, and within half an hour I was tucked into his passenger seat, the darkly tinted windows blocking the sun from blinding me as he drove me home.

“Are you going to ignore me the whole time?” he asked.

“I mean, I did that for two years. I would hate to break the pattern now.”

He huffed, his fingers flexing against the steering wheel. “I know I’m a shitty parent. You don’t have to rub it in my face.”

I only shrugged. “You rubbed it in mine my whole life.”

“So you’re just never gonna let it go?”

“Generally an apology is required before that happens.”

“You’re really ruining my groove of sweeping in to be the hero so you’ll forgive me.”

“Good to know that my illness was very convenient timing for you to try to manipulate me.”

“Jesus fuck, Amara. You take everything the wrong way.”

“I take it the way you say it.”

He lapsed into silence and I was grateful for it. At least he didn’t try to stay. Once he’d gotten me back into my apartment, I plugged in my phone and waited for it to come back to life so I could text my landlord to get the locks replaced.

I was tempted to just delete my messages without reading them. I didn’t, though. I took a painstaking amount of time to reassure my friends that I was safe and message back all the people who had been looking for me, which granted, were not that many, but the ones who did were very chatty people.

Before I collapsed face-first into my nest, I ate a bowl of instant noodles and drank some water, imagining the disapproving faces of my nurses when I had contemplated skipping the food altogether to guilt me into consumption.

At least here I could masturbate in peace and pretend my alpha was here. That couldn’t be nearly as depressing as the reality, could it?

CHAPTER 4

ELIO

“Motherfucker!”

My cousin Tina dabbed the bullet graze with antiseptic, the sting making me grit my teeth and think about hurling the bottle at the wall.

Anita and Estella were digging graves in the garden and tomorrow they would pick up seeds to sprinkle in the soil to disguise the bodies.

“Sorry,” Tina whispered.

“Not your fault,” I gritted out

“I think it needs stitches,” she said quietly.

Of course it fucking did.

“Let me get my supplies.”

She disappeared for a moment and returned with the very hefty first aid kit the family kept. Tina wasn’t a professional seamstress, but she had made so many clothes for the family that I trusted her hand with a needle. After waiting for the topical numbing agent to do some of its work, she started up and I stared at the curved suture needle as it glided through my skin. Tina made quick and tidy work of the stitches. When she was finished, she applied a little more antiseptic and then covered the whole thing with gauze before taping it down.

“All done.”

“Thanks.”

“Try not to get too rough with it for a couple of weeks at least.”

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